


Dead Hot

by dr_tectonic



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: 13 drabbles, Gen, Zombies, not actually darkfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_tectonic/pseuds/dr_tectonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rocks fall, everybody dies.  And then things REALLY get out of hand.</p><p>Not actually darkfic, despite appearances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Hot

**Title:** Dead Hot  
 **Fandom:** Hot Fuzz  
 **Author:** dr-tectonic  
 **Word Count:** 13 one-hundred word drabbles  
 **Rating:** R for violence, death, and language.  
 **Warnings:** Major character death. (And minor character death, animal death, death, death, death, and undeath.)  
 **Due Credit:** Pegg, Wright, and Frost, et al.  
 **Summary:** Rocks fall, everybody dies. And then things REALLY get out of hand.  
 **N.B.:** Not actually darkfic, despite appearances.

  
Danny knows immediately that something has gone terribly, horribly wrong.

It all goes like he rehearsed: _Palm the ketchup. Walk fierce. Overhand stab, like you mean it!_ But then--

The knife goes in much deeper than it should. Blood spurts hot and sticky across his startled fingers, coating the unburst sachet in his hand.

Danny watches, numb, as Nicholas stumbles and falls, hand clutching the wound. His confused gaze finds Danny's and he mouths the word "Why?"

And then he dies.

They mistake Danny's shock for hardness. He drives away unquestioned, his heart dead as the body in the boot.

 

* * *

 

The amount of aerodynamic lift generated by an airborne Volkswagen Jetta is exactly the same as that generated by a Datsun Cherry, which is to say: none whatsoever.

There's a moment of freefall, then a jolt and tumbling and the airbag punching Danny in the face.

The car doesn't explode when it hits the bottom of Sandford Gorge. That only happens in the movies. It just sinks into the cold black waters of the fen.

Too dazed to remember his seatbelt, Danny smashes the window open. Darkness rushes in.

It turns out drowning is also a nasty way to go.

 

* * *

 

Frank's explanation of a 'special assignment' in Southampton works just as it did with Popwell.

"Any idear when he'll be back, Chief?"

"Hard to say, Doris. It was all very hush-hush."

"Shame that Danny had to go with him and miss the judging."

"Well, we all have to make our sacrifices for the greater good." Danny's not answering his mobile, but Frank's sure he'll come to his senses soon enough.

She hesitates. "I was thinkin' about what Angel said about them accidents..."

Oh, _Doris._ What a shame. "Why don't you come by my house this evening, and we'll discuss it."

 

* * *

 

Truth be told, the Andes' deductive skills are terrible. Except regarding one another.

Something's bothering Andy.

 _What's wrong?_ asks Wainwright's raised eyebrow.

 _Nothing,_ responds Cartwright's shrug.

 _Horseshit,_ says a twist of the lips.

Minutes pass.

"Lend us a fag?" asks Cartwright.

Pack of cigs half-offered: a bribe.

"Bit odd, Danny goin' with Angle, innit?"

"Nah. Inseperable, those two"

"Insufferable, more like." They high-five.

"..."

"..."

"Ain't Southampton where Popwell went?"

Andy's eyes widen.

Terrible deducers. But given enough clues, they get there.

"Oh. My. Gawd!"

Eyebrow.

"I think Nicklarse and Danny are _doin'_ it!"

Well. They get _somewhere,_ at any rate...

 

* * *

With Doris out sick and the Andes 'investigating' Flappers again, Bob and Tony are on foot patrol. Things are quiet after a Best Village win, but litter doesn't police itself.

Round back of the castle, Saxon whines and pulls at his lead.

"Leavvaswannaloanzax."

"Hold up," says Tony, "There's a hole here. Bit unsafe, that."

They don't spend long underground; the simple observation that there's _more than one_ stack of bodies sends them stumbling shaken back to daylight.

"Gesserizzakilleraff'rall."

"We better tell the Chief!"

They are surprised to learn that he already knows.

Their surprise doesn't last long. Although it does last the rest of their lives.

 

* * *

 

As he sponges the inside of his office window clean, Frank considers that he's going to have to replace quite a lot of officers all at once.

He ponders briefly whether he ought just step out to the front desk and kill whichever Turner is on duty, then start hunting down the Andes. Wipe the slate clean and start fresh.

But no. Danny's lost enough playmates; he'll want some continuity when he returns. _When._ Not if.

The bloody canvas bundle on his floor represents mountains of paperwork. But no matter. Sandford is The Best Village. All's right with the world.

 

* * *

 

When it was all over, no-one could ever say why it happened.

Maybe it was that crashed space probe, or the funny comet.

Maybe it was the hazardous waste barrels dumped -- quite illegally -- further up the gorge, rusted and leaking their secrets into the murky waters of the bog.

Or maybe it was Sandford's many unquiet dead, who latched onto the shining beacon of justice that was Angel's soul. When he died, betrayed, with a hole in his heart, their sheer outrage ripped a similar hole right through the veil of death.

But smart money is on the comet.

 

* * *

 

There's a glow-in-the-dark emergency release handle in the boot. Angel comes boiling to the surface like something pale and wet and dead and _really angry._

He wades through chest-deep water to the driver's side, rips the crumpled door open, hauls out Danny's corpse, and throws it splashing onto shore.

He stands dripping over the body and demands: "Why, Danny? WHY?"

Danny sits up. "It was an accident!"

"You _stabbed_ me!"

"You moved your fuckin' notebook!"

"I'll kill you!"

"I'm already dead!"

"What?"

"I'm _dead_ , Nicholas. So're you."

He feels for a pulse in three places before realizing he isn't breathing.

 

* * *

 

They trudge damply across a field. "I'm tellin' you, we're not zombies," insists Danny.

Nicholas goggles at him. "Hello! Dead people, walking about! How are we not zombies?"

"Zombies _shuffle_. And hunger for the flesh of the living."

"I thought it was braaaaaaains."

"That's living dead, not zombies."

"What are we, then?"

"Dunno. What you hungry for?"

Nicholas doesn't have to ponder long. " _Vengeance._ "

"I _said_ I was sorry!"

"Not you. Vengeance on the NWA."

"But why? It's just a... a _gardening_ club."

Nicholas stops, the better to stare in disbelief. "I have some catacombs to show you."

 

* * *

 

Nicholas tries to tell Danny that CPR won't work, that Doris is _dead_ \-- even in the dimness beneath the castle, he can see the livid strangulation-marks around her throat -- but Danny doesn't listen. He leans in for a rescue breath, there's a fat black spark, and Doris opens her eyes.

Upon reanimation, Tony and Bob corroborate Frank as the killer. Everyone offers Danny condolences on having a twat for a father. Saxon just licks his face.

Danny eyes the heaps of dead bodies thoughtfully, then quirks an eyebrow. "Vengeance, you said?"

"Justice," amends Nicholas.

Danny shrugs. "Close enough."

 

* * *

 

After The Popwell Business, the NWA passed a motion that members should carry firearms at all times, as a great many troubles can be tidied up with a spot of judicious murder.

As it turns out, an army of zombies in the Market Place led by revenant police officers is not one of them.

Not that the zombies are bullet-proof, but there are quite a lot of them. A dozen Best Villages' worth.

Tom Weaver gets torn apart by a swarm of undead buskers before Angel can bring them to heel. The rest of them take refuge in The Swan.

 

* * *

 

The main difficulty in holing up in a pub until the zombie attack blows over is running out of supplies.

Things are exacerbated considerably when the besieging undead are organized, wearing riot gear, and have badges.

After three days the NWA still have ammo, but are running low on food. Man cannot live on pig snacks alone.

Angel's on the megaphone again, trying to convince the silly bastards to give it up. A stealthy rifle from an upstairs window puts a bullet through his heart.

"Yes, and?" he shouts, peevishly, picking himself up.

The Porters are the first to surrender.

 

* * *

 

Of course Frank and Simon make a break for it.

There's a bad moment when Frank takes Danny hostage in the model village; Angel suspects destroying the brain may be one of the few ways that undead cops _can_ be stopped. But the getaway is foiled by a zombie in the back seat, so that's alright.

Thankfully, the NWA's confessions spare anybody from needing to figure out the legal admissibility of post-mortem testimony.

The mankier zombies disintegrate. The rest... don't.

Life goes on.

Nowadays, Angel's only real complaint is tourists who speed, just enough, to get ticketed by a zombie.  



End file.
